


dum spiro spero

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Series: FenHawke Writing Challenge [3]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Fenris Needs a Hug, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 00:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6590083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Pain, </i>when his mind got the better of him, when he'd fall to bended knee in the middle of his mansion, fingers splayed against his own chest as the breath rattled beneath them.</p><p> </p><p>Or: Fenris gets triggered at the worst moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dum spiro spero

**Author's Note:**

> _While I breathe, I hope._
> 
>  
> 
> **Read the tags, please! There are some triggers!**

Some things were effortless.

Making breakfast with ingredients that he had bought himself, for instance. Tracking slavers on the road, dealing with Isabela's wit, falling in love. And yes, the latter _had_ been effortless; he hadn't saw it coming and then suddenly, he was in love. It had been effortless - but not easy.

Some things were difficult.

Merging into society, for one. Transitioning from being a slave to being free (and the mindset behind it). Trusting Hawke, with magic in his blood, learning to read, write, and that there was no one coming to take him away anymore.

And those more difficult things? Things cropped up with them. Problems. Worry, irritation, and downright anger. _Pain_ , when his mind got the better of him, when he'd fall to bended knee in the middle of his mansion, fingers splayed against his own chest as the breath rattled beneath them, as he struggled to inhale, exhale, because _what if Danarius was lurking in the shadows_ , or _what if he's hiding in the mansion, and the moment you close your eyes, he'll come out_ , or _if you're happy, he will come to you and remind you that you are NoT ALLoWeD tO BE._ When his mind got the better of him, when he fell to bended knee in the middle of his mansion and struggled to breathe and hoped against _hope_ , first, that someone wouldn't walk in, and then, as he grew to trust his companions more, that someone _would_ walk in. Drag him away from the horrific clutches that he could not escape in his own head, ground him to reality, and reaffirm that he was going to be okay, that he deserved that, that this life was his.

Hawke had witnessed it once. They all had, the beginning of what had been an episode Fenris still would cringe as he thought about. And Hawke had noticed that something was wrong, so very wrong, and shepherded Fenris away from them, from prying eyes, and sat with him until he calmed down. He'd told him _"I love you"_ afterwards. And Fenris had ached in a way both good and bad and struggled not to lose the rest of his pieces then and there.

He had convinced Hawke that he was fine, later that evening, and Hawke had gone on his way. They didn't speak of it again, and neither did any of their friends.

He was allowed to be happy. He had learned that over the years. Danarius was gone and dead. He was not coming for him. Fenris trusted Hawke with his life now, with his life, his love, and everything in between. He was allowed to have his own life, and he was allowed to live it the way he wanted.

_(but...)_

Hawke's nails bit into his scalp, fingers tweaking silver hair, pinpricks against the top of his that were unintentional. _(and yet)_ Hands that he could forget belonged to Hawke, feeling so similar, large and hot and gripping his hair and holding him in place - but no, it was Hawke, and Hawke wouldn't hurt him. _(right?)_ He wasn't going to hurt him. _(what if it wasn't Hawke?)_

Fenris was derailed. What?

What if the hands on the top of his hand... _he_ had done that. Held him down. Held him in place. _"Deeper, little wolf."_ And his jaw ached around the cock filling his mouth, the reek of sex and sweat thick in his nostrils. _(no)_ And he couldn't breathe over it, couldn't breathe over the thrusts against the back of his throat that choked him, gagged him, suffocated him. _(no!)_ The tears streaming down his cheeks, burning his eyes, blurring his vision. He couldn't _breathe_. _(please make it stop it will never stop)_

"Fenris!" That voice wasn't _his_. "Fenris, Fenris, Fen, stop! Fen!" Fenris was suddenly free of contact, mouth left gaping, gasping, for air that he couldn't find even then. Hands grabbed at his shoulders and they weren't _his_ hands and still Fenris flinched, rocking back with a gasp that was silent, devoid of oxygen. At least before, Fenris knew that _he_ wouldn't kill him because he _enjoyed_ him so much but this wasn't _him_ and Fenris was certain, _certain_ that he was going to die now, his life was going to end like this-

" _Fuck_. Fenris, Fenris, it's just me, Hawke, Fenris, hey, hey, hey, look at me, listen to me. Fenris, breathe, breathe." _(Hawke?)_ Hawke.

Right. It was Hawke.

Danarius was gone.

Dead.

This was Hawke, and Hawke was...

The first breath that he got in just then exploded from his lungs in a sob and he curled over, palms against the floor and forehead against his bare knees. The perfect position of submission and _oh no, no, not that, not that one!_ But even then he couldn't move, flinging his arms over his head to sob and sob and _sob_.

Hawke was speaking the entire time. Fenris couldn't hear most of it over the noises coming from his own mouth, from the pounding in his head and his ears, and the rasping of his breaths as his head swam both with vertigo and misplaced thoughts.

Eventually, he realized that Hawke was speaking directly to him, giving him soft suggestions, always with a question. (No demands.) _"Fenris, can you breathe with me? If you can breathe in slowly, that would be great. Can you let that breathe out now? You might want to do try that inhale again, can you listen to my breathing?"_

And, eventually, he managed to follow those quiet suggestions. He did not get praise for any of it (which he appreciated). In between his gasping and his curled over crying, he garbled out something to Hawke that must have been an answer to a question ( _"can I hold your hand, Fenris?"_ ) and the soft touch on his hand eventually made its way to his shoulder, to his face, caressing skin that was soaked with tears and snot and sweat. And when he could see, Hawke was still knelt in front of him, swathed in a burgundy robe, armed with a handkerchief and a cup of something steaming nearby, and Fenris wondered when all of that had happened. He hadn't even known Hawke had gotten up.

He was so tired.

When he slumped over into Hawke's awaiting arms, he wasn't sure that it was entirely a conscious choice, but it was touch that soothed him away from the nightmares in his mind. It crashed him back into reality, with the sickening swoop in his stomach that he had fallen - no, _shattered_ into pieces in front of Hawke, even after all these years, and the shortness of breath was starting to be replaced with guilt, and shame, and... he was just so drained.

He couldn't do this right now.

He drifted from the present, the blissful dark of dreamless sleep filtering over his vision and dragging him into unconsciousness. There was nothingness, and then he could relax.

 

 

 

When he woke up, he felt worse. He would have thought it impossible had it not happened times before, although he was usually by himself when it did. He opened his eyes to burgundy fabric. He was still curled on Hawke's lap. They were still sitting on the floor next to the bed, where he had been knelt as he had taken Hawke between his lips. A shudder crawled up Fenris's spine and he pulled away from Hawke slowly, stiffly, refusing to meet his eyes.

Hawke's arms fell away immediately, letting him go. "Hey," he greeted. Like it was any other day.

Fenris sighed shakily, turning away. "You could have moved me." He didn't know how long he had been asleep. His own limbs were asleep, and he couldn't fathom how uncomfortable Hawke must have been.

"I wasn't sure I should," Hawke admitted. "You went out like a light, but I was afraid to move you."

"Great." Fenris rubbed the back of his head, pushing around to his forehead to shove the heel of his hand into his skin, fighting against the ache there.

"I'd gotten you a drink, but I think it's gone cold now."

"Sorry," Fenris muttered.

Hawke leaned forward. "Why are you apologizing?"

Fenris raised a brow. "I could think of a few things." And _that_ was an understatement.

Hawke shrugged.

Fenris tried not to stare. He was certain he failed. "Hawke. I'm almost certain I started to hyperventilate with my lips wrapped around your _cock_."

"Oh, _worse_ things have happened," Hawke replied with a little smirk.

Fenris didn't know whether or not to believe him. He couldn't think of many worse things. Well, technically, he could. He just didn't want to. "... Sure," he murmured.

"You could have said something, Fenris," Hawke said gently. "I'm more than willing to suck you off instead of the other way around."

There it was. And Fenris had no real explanation. "I've sucked you off plenty, Hawke."

"Yes."

"I just..." He waved his hand. "You've seen this happen before."

"Not while you were-"

"It _happens_ ," Fenris interrupted, "at inopportune times."

"Okay." Hawke held up his hands. "No, it's fine. I was just asking. I don't want you to... I don't want you doing things just because you think you have to, because I like it. You are _allowed_ to tell me no, Fenris. With anything. Not just sex."

"I've exercised that right before," Fenris said softly. And what a strange concept that still was, having _that_ choice.

"I know," Hawke replied. "I just wanted to make sure you were still standing by it. You _tell me_ if you need something. Want something. Or if you don't."

Fenris nodded slowly. "Still... still going by that rule, yes."

Hawke beamed, actually _beamed_. "Good!" He rolled onto his knees, grabbing the mug sitting nearby. "I'm going to just dump this and get some more. You should rest."

"Yes," Fenris agreed, getting to his feet. He needed to expend the effort to put clothes on, at least his robe, and then he was going to... sleep more, maybe. A bath wouldn't be bad, either. Maybe in awhile. His energy had fled with the rush of memory and hadn't come back even after the nap. The one good thing was that Hawke's words had lessened the guilt bubbling in his gut, and he didn't feel _as_ sick.

"Back in a moment. Don't go anywhere!" Hawke said, smiling warmly as he left for the kitchen.

Fenris hooked his fingers beneath the fabric of his robe, watching him go. "Wouldn't dream of it," he said softly, and smiled weakly as he redressed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> fuk u danarius -___- no but listen Fenris with ptsd is so important to me (and not even purely in the sexual sense but considering his past that is definitely an issue). this is my headcanon. i have adopted it. i can't even explain why this is so important to me. T_T
> 
> I do not own _Dragon Age II_.  
>  Thanks for reading!
> 
> edit: Yooo thanks to the person who reminded me that it's PTSD I was referencing and not anxiety and I don't know how I went a whole story calling it anxiety and nobody pointed it out, I suck and thank you for correcting my mistakes T_T


End file.
